Daniel
Eight Months After The Eastwood Event
Daniel’s movements accelerated as he neared the end of the puzzle. He approached the goal with the familiarity of a horse returning to its barn. Mary watched him from across the folding card table, puzzle between them, a stopwatch in her hand.
Today he faced the Tower of Hanoi again—three rods and a cone of seven disks of different sizes he could move between the rods. The object of the game was to move the colorful cone from the first rod to the third rod one piece at a time while never putting a larger disk on top of a smaller one.
He calculated the minimum number of moves to complete a Tower of Hanoi using the formula (2n – 1) with (n) as the number of disks. This seven-disk puzzle took one hundred twenty-seven moves. It didn’t necessarily take long to finish, maybe one move a second if you were a robot. He slid the smallest disk onto the finished Tower and the stopwatch beeped at Mary’s touch.
“Perfectly done, Daniel!” she congratulated him, “Good time, too.”
He tried not to show his happiness. “It’s not so difficult once you know how’s it’s done.”
“What’s impressive is holding the pattern and goal in mind while your hands work.” Mary moved as she spoke, retiring the worn Tower and its faded pieces to their pristine case. “That kind of multitasking makes you a quick thinker.” Next, she brought out four items on a tray. “You’re a smart boy, Daniel.”
A snowman beside several pine trees covered in white stared back at him from inside a snow globe.
“Do I have to?” he said as he shifted his footing on the sand-covered floor.
Dr. Adelaide nodded, “We’re testing the development of your ability, monitoring any growth or recession.”
He accepted that. It wasn’t enough to tell, he had to show. Daniel reached forward to the little glass sphere seeing charcoal eyes, corncob pipe, and a button nose. He hesitated. “Does it have to be a snow globe? It’s about the glass, right?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she nodded, then swept her open palm in an invitation, “At your convenience…”
He touched the snow globe. The glass seemed to melt and crack at the same time, growing brittle and deforming until the weight of the water broke through. Droplets sizzled cold on his skin while the remaining liquid sloshed out of the globe and filled the tray.
Then came a roll of coins. At his touch, the wrapper tore itself into strips which tore themselves into scraps which tore themselves into tiny flecks that fluttered away on the air-currents, spilling the coins. The metal that brushed his skin tarnished and rusted.
The third item was a rock; he suspected granite. Daniel liked the color and pattern of the grain. He’d watched a special about how igneous rock formed. Not waiting any longer, he tapped the stone. Pieces crumbled off and fell. Mary seemed satisfied.
With relief, he eyed the last item on the tray, an unmarked coin of pure gold. Daniel ran his fingers over it, appreciating the coolness, the smoothness, the resistance, and solidity. He wished they had more gold—a lot more—because it was the one thing he could hold without destroying. He’d seen a house of gold in his dreams, ones he hadn’t even told Mary about. He dreamt of a place where he lived without fear of hurting anyone.
Daniel brought the gold to his face to rub it against his cheek, brushing it with his lips to enjoy the softness. Embarrassed, he looked to see the smug amusement on Dr. Adelaide’s face. Giving the ingot a final caress, he gently returned it.
She laughed, “I suppose we can conclude the testing with this data.”
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Mary prepared to go. She dumped the tray’s contents into an empty bag of landscaping sand left behind by a guard. They were supposed to take those with them when his room was being refilled… Daniel’s foot slid an inch back, eyes drifting up to the bright fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling. She’s leaving early. He felt a twinge in his chest. Was she bored of spending time with him? He spoke before she could put a hand on the door, his tongue thick in his dry mouth but his voice clear and calm, “We haven’t played chess today.”
She turned to him with a sly grin, “I thought you didn’t like chess.” Mary whipped the board, pieces, and clock out of her bag and set them up in a flash, “Or do you not like to lose?”
He didn’t like to lose. He played this game because it was her favorite. She’d shown him every Mate possible in the first six moves—by using them on him. He’d lost his first game of chess to the Scholar’s Mate. Every game was a struggle to last one turn longer than before.
“Pawn to d4,” he said, and she moved the piece for him.
“How’s your new TV?” she asked as she moved and hit the clock.
Dr. Adelaide always did this, distracting him with small talk while he was being timed. “I like the ‘motion sensing’. Pawn to e3.”
“That’s right, now you won’t constantly need a new remote,” she made her move and hit the clock, putting it back on him, “What do you like to watch?”
He concentrated to predict her while planning his moves. Daniel began to pace, eyes locked on the board. “I’ve been watching nature shows. I saw some programs about elephants and the—ah,” he sucked his teeth, “What is the word for them? The giant water lizards?” He brought out his knight and they exchanged a few rapid moves.
“Crocodiles?” she guessed.
“Yes, crocodiles.”
“Can you spell it?”
Easy. “C-r-o-c-o-d-i-l-e.”
“Good, Daniel. Your progress has been remarkable.” She moved and hit the clock. “Are those shows your favorite?”
“Yes.” Things on the board were already spiraling out of his control, but he spared a thought to ask her, “Do you think I’ll ever be able to see them? You know, in person? Rook to a4.”
Mary hesitated for the first time that game, “One day, Daniel.” She moved and hit the clock, “I’m sure one day you’ll see the world with your own eyes. I’m trying to protect you long enough for that to happen.” He moved. She moved. The clock ticked on. “Have you remembered anything from before I found you, yet? Any idea where your parents are?” She left unspoken the third question, though he felt it as a lump in his throat, ‘What happened to them?’
“No.” He’d lost too many pieces. There was no way he could win but Dr. Adelaide always made him play to the finish—to last as long as he could. If he stayed in the game long enough, he might get to ask another question. “Mary.” She looked up. “Knight to e5. Sometimes, I can see things.”
“You see things?” She made a move. “What kinds of things?”
“Colors. Pawn to c5.” They exchanged pieces. “In the walls. Queen to G3.” He pointed at the concrete, “There, there, there…” adjusting his aim, he identified six directions. Some above and to the left, others down and right, all around him through the walls.
Dr. Adelaide considered for a moment and made her move. He saw checkmate in two, nothing he could do about it. “Those are people, Daniel. People much like yourself, yet very different.”
“Can I talk to them?”
“Not this year.” She gave a heavy sigh, “Hopefully, we can get permission soon. I’d like to see you all working together.”
“Why are they here?” Why was he here?
She held the white rook in one hand, tapping it against the card table thoughtfully, “They are here,” she began, taking another of his pieces, “Because there are people in the world who would hurt them. They’re here for protection.”
Daniel looked down at his hands—bony, dark, and full of deadly power. “But I’m here because I might hurt someone.” One last futile move, “King to f3.”
“Checkmate,” Dr. Adelaide said as she knocked over his king. She pondered while staring at the board. “People fear a rabid dog—but they respect a man in a suit, who is far more dangerous.” She packed up the chess set. “The difference between fear and respect is control. Self-control. You’re here because you don’t understand yourself. Therefore, you fear yourself.”
She stepped into the hazard suit she’d deposited on the ground when she’d entered. Dr. Adelaide treated it as an uncomfortable formality, half ignored, no matter what the safety regulations dictated.
“You will always fear yourself until you can control your ability. Only then will you respect yourself and earn the respect of others—” Zipping the suit closed, Dr. Adelaide’s face was obscured by a one-way face mask, though her voice rang clear, “—But you will always have my love.”
Mary put her thickly gloved hands on his shoulders and embraced him. This was the closest physical contact with a human being he could have. Her hug chilled instead of warmed and he couldn’t hear her heartbeat through the wall of plastic between them. That didn’t matter.
The boy Daniel buried his head in her stomach and gripped tight the small of her back. She stroked his hair. If he closed his eyes he could almost remember that other woman’s embrace… the voice so familiar and comforting… the face—just beyond recall—of his mother.
Dr. Adelaide gently pushed him away when the plastic wore thin… far too soon for the lonely boy.